


THINGS TO LIE ABOUT

by AgnesClementine



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, a smidge of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 23:32:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17395823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgnesClementine/pseuds/AgnesClementine
Summary: “What the fuck are we doing?” He asks in the end.Mick takes another swing. “Drinking,” he says, shaking the bottle a bit as if to say “See?” before setting it on the table. Len doesn’t think it’s funny.





	THINGS TO LIE ABOUT

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know. This was supposed to be fluff and then something happened. I'm not completely happy with how this turned out, but... *shrug*
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you think and enjoy! :)

Len doesn’t know what he was thinking. He doesn’t know what urged him to do this, what made him come here, what happened with the “ _we’re done_ ”. But he’s here now.

It felt like old times, like they were before that damned job. Len talked and Mick sat in silence, listening. It felt like old times; _if Len ignored the endless fucking abyss between them_. Mick wouldn’t even look at him, like it was all Len’s fault. And yeah, he knows, part of it was his fault. He never should have taken the job, but more importantly, he never should have left Mick behind when he realized that everything went wrong. But part of it was on Mick too.

Len doesn’t want to play the judge here, though. It’s not what he came here to do.

Although, it would be easier to sort through this whole mess if Mick would’ve just _fucking looked at him._

He's immersed in darkness, standing in the shadows of the room, as far away from Len as possible. It probably shouldn't sting as much as it does. Or maybe it should. Len has always been stunted when it came to feelings and emotions and all that gooey, _sticky stuff_ , so what does he know.

“So what do you say, Mick?” He asks finally, swallowing the nerves and hope before they eat him alive. “You’re in?”

Mick says nothing for a moment. He fiddles with his lighter; either oblivious at how the sound of the lid clicking open makes Len nauseous, or not giving a shit about Len anymore which is, frankly, a more plausible between the two. Then he speaks.

“Yeah,” he responds, finally ( _finally_ ) looking up at Len, “I’m in, buddy.”

It doesn’t make Len feel better.

  * ●●●●



Mick pulls him out to some back alley dive bar that is not actually the worst place Len had a drink in, but it sends shivers up his spine all the same. Just not for the same reason, he supposes. Len expected, in the best case, Mick to accept the offer and kick him the fuck out (the worst case was a bullet to his head).

He didn’t expect Mick to take him out on a drink. They don’t do that anymore.

( _Do they?_ )

“Cat got your tongue?”

“What?” Len looks up, fingers frozen from where they were in the middle of peeling the label from his beer bottle.

Mick shrugs, takes a swing from his own. "Remember you being chattier than this."

Len doesn’t know what to say.

Yeah, sorry, I'm just really confused at the moment. What the fuck is happening here again?

He presses his lips into a thin line, trying to find the best way to go about this. His fallout with Mick was a fucking disaster. Hell, if this whole thing with the Flash didn’t turn up, Len doubts he’d see Mick again before he died. And he also doubts that Mick was just eagerly waiting for him to knock on his door all this time. And to take him out _for a beer_ , out of all things.

“What the fuck are we doing?” He asks in the end.

Mick takes another swing. “Drinking,” he says, shaking the bottle a bit as if to say “ _See?_ ” before setting it on the table. Len doesn’t think it’s funny.

Mick shrugs again. “So, how’s Lisa?”

“You want to talk about Lisa?” Len asks dubiously.

“We stayed in touch,” Mick responds, looking at him to catch his reaction.

Len scowls, frowning, “Yeah, I know. _She gave me your address_.”

Mick hums, “Figures.”

“Mick.”

“What?”

This all feels wrong. This is not how things are between them. It’s not- it’s not _supposed_ to be like this.

“You didn’t just take me out on a drink, Mick. So quit beating around the bush and just says what you have to say.”

Mick nods. “Why’d you come?”

At Len’s confused frown, he elaborates. “Why’d you come to _me_. _To help you_. After you’ve said we’re done?”

"Because this is business, Mick," Len says, suddenly regretting asking anything. He should’ve just stayed quiet.

Mick raises his eyebrows at him. “Oh, this is business now?”

“Yeah.” Len glares.

"Aha, so, let's see," Mick responds. Len can't help but bristle at the mocking tone. "Is this just strictly work now?”

“I told you. _We’re done_. This is “ _just strictly work_ " now," Len says sharply and gets up. He's done here.

Even over the noise, he can hear a chair scraping over the floor as Mick rises to follow him outside. He shoves his hands in his jacket pockets and balls them into fists. This is so not a discussion he wants to have right now. Preferably, the day of _St. Nobody_ would’ve been perfect, but people rarely get what they want.

“Len!” Mick hisses, catching his elbow and turning him around. “What’s the fucking difference between now and then?”

_The fucking nerve_ , Len thinks, ripping his arm out of Mick’s hold. “The difference is that I’m done. I’m over being worried fucking sick that someone I care about might be dead whenever I hear sirens. And you know- _you know_ I cared about you.” He spits out.

Mick blinks at him, observing him. “Cared, huh? Don’t care anymore?”

Len breathes out through his nose slowly. His eyes sting; he has to get this over with quickly. Mick will never buy it otherwise.

“No. I don’t.” He says.

Mick narrows his eyes, staring at him, and then nods. He lifts his hand and Len thinks, _a hit_. He thinks, _a hand around his throat_. He thinks, _a finger and a suggestion of where to shove it_.

He sets his palm against the side of Len’s neck, thumb grazing over his jaw, and Len steps closer like metal drawn in by a magnet. At least this way Mick can’t see his glassy eyes. Especially as Mick’s touch is ridiculously gentle, like nothing ever happened and they’re okay. Like they’re still alright.

Mick presses his lips to Len’s temple, briefly, before leaning down to whisper in his ear.

“I can’t tell if you’re not even trying or if you used to be a better liar.” And then he leaves.

Len chokes on a laugh, looking at his retreating back. Mick always could read him like a book when he set his mind to it.

  * ●●●●



Len feels… tingly. And he has no fucking idea where he is. _What he is_.

“You done with your beauty sleep?” Mick.

Len opens his eyes. Cool, he’s a body. In a body. Whatever. It’s still all kinda confusing. Oculus is a fucking trip and he hopes that it’s actually destroyed. But he’s lying on a bed and Mick is here, so that’s something.

Mick is here and staring at him. And oh, that’s not the ‘clothes are coming off soon’ stare.

“I think so. Might take a nap later, though.” He says deadpan.

Mick observes him analytically. “You remember when you came to get me to take out the Flash?”

Len nods. “Heat gun,” he says, which probably doesn’t make any sense, but Mick nods back like he gets it.

“Yeah. And you lied.” Mick tells him.

Len lies all the time. Mick has to be a bit more specific. “Lied about what?”

Mick grins, just a little bit. “About not caring.”

_Oh_.

“Oh.”

“Oh is right.” Mick agrees and he looks alarmingly smug about it. He looks like he has it all figured out. Len hates it and he missed it and he loves how if there’s anyone who can get in his head like that it’s Mick.

“Nice to have you back, and to be clear, you pull that shit ever again, I will chase your reckless ass into the afterlife and kick it," Mick tells him.

Len smirks. “You love my reckless ass.”

Mick shrugs. “Eh, it’s alright. Like it better when it’s alive, by the way.”

Len shakes his head. “You’re gonna hold this over my head forever won’t you?”

Mick looks at him seriously. “You’re not the only one who gets worried sick about someone they care about, Len.”

Right. Time for feelings. Len would like to go back to sleep now, thank you.

Mick thwacks him on the arm. “Don’t you dare fall asleep again.”

“Wasn’t going to…” Len protests weakly. He smirks. “Wanna sleep with me?” It’s a double entendre and has Mick snorting before he nudges Len to the side and slides under the comforter.

Len might have jabbed his elbow in Mick’s side a few times (resulting in a mini wrestling match before they realized the bed is really not big enough for two grown men wrestling and end up on the floor), just for the sake of how things used to be. Eventually, though, they settle down.

“Hey,” Mick says, his arm is slung over Len’s waist, fingers drawing patterns on the skin of Len’s back, and Len’s arms are trapped between their bodies. “Why’d you come to get me? Just me out of all the people?”

Len thinks. He had no idea what he was doing there, he was sure Mick hated him, but… he had to try.

“You know.” He responds.

“I do?” Mick asks back.

Len hums. “Hint; it was that thing I lied about.”

Mick laughs, delighted and happy and leans down to kiss him.


End file.
